Come Undone

01. More of That

FRANKIE 

"I'd give you everything, Preciosa."

"It's getting old, Luis."

Luis Mendoza knew this game. Hell, he probably invented it. Manipulating women was something he considered an art form. With wavy black hair and perfectly bronzed skin, he was most likely every woman's dream. Well, every woman between here and Isla Verde. Everyone except me, and that killed him. A delicious sort of death that I openly reveled in, allowing me to continue twisting the knife.

Tattoos during the day, drugs at night. I'm sure he'll eventually make some Kardashian equivalent a very disappointed woman.

"Come on then, don't deny what we have" his agitation fed my need to crush his short-sighted dream. The very fact that I wasn't falling at his feet was like a fire poker to his fragile male ego. Which incidentally was far bigger than the size of his-

"Paquita."

I hated that nickname, and the fucker knew it.

"It was one time, Luis. Alcohol-induced choices are not exactly my finest moments."

Even more than alcohol? Succumbing to human emotion, desire, need. All very dangerous things when left in the hands of someone entirely ill-prepared to weaponize them. Those people aren't me, though, and I'll happily wield the power necessary to find my means to an end.

His eye-fucking was making me incredibly uncomfortable. Much to my chagrin, somehow I had ended up the designated "Princesa de La Perla." Analogous to the prized pig on display at the county fair. The reasons for that were beyond me. My mother had told me long ago that the unattainable always shine brightest in the moonlight. The luster bouncing off my shine must be blinding because they seemed to swarm around me like moths. My job was to make sure they fulfilled their Lepidopteric destiny by burning in the flame. Traversing the darkness had become my specialty. I was like the dusk in that way. Never allowing my glow to be extinguished. Burning brightest when the rain puts out the scorched earth I carry within.

"You gonna answer me, baby?"

Enough with this back and forth. It's tired as hell, but sometimes I feel like he won't get it unless I give him a kick to the sack. Which I'm not opposed to, but is he worth all that? Undoubtedly, no.

"Get back to work before Miguel shoots you," I replied curtly, shoving him away.

"So, you do care."

Smug asshole. The way he leers is almost predatorial.

"Obviously. Blood is messy." I smirked, offering him a callous shrug.

I felt his fingers dangerously close to me. Suddenly he grabbed my chin and tilted my head up, forcing me to look at him. It was taking everything in me not to castrate him right then and there.

"One day, baby, you'll stop thinking you're too good for this and realize you are us. You stopped being Miss America the moment your sweet ass stepped off the plane. You think you can do better? This is your life now, princess. Accept your fate."

I lowered my eyes, giving him my best sympathetic look. I watched as he went from smug to puzzled, and made my move. Ripping his hand off of my face, I began twisting it backwards until I heard bones start to crack.

"One day," I began, timing my cadence perfectly. "One day, you will learn to stop underestimating me, Chicharra." He grimaced, and I continued. "Let this be a reminder of what happens when you don't keep your fucking hands to yourself."